


Is that all she is to him?

by TheatreSteph



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, First Kiss, Love Confessions, POV Bellamy Blake, Season/Series 07, The author doesn’t give a damn, The author is crying at her own work, The author is listening to folklore and thinking about how angsty 7x12 was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26082652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatreSteph/pseuds/TheatreSteph
Summary: It was the brave, determined face she wore when refusing to show weakness despite experiencing excruciating pain.Seeing her wearing it for him, knowing that she saw him as the enemy, it cut a wound in him deeper than any sword or bullet ever could.Damnit.Failing his duty to the Shepherd  for the second time in 2 minutes, he locked the door and stayed behind instead of following his fellow Disciples.Basically, I’m listening to folklore and thinking about 7x12 and just pouring out my emotions into something angsty.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 26
Kudos: 63





	Is that all she is to him?

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just pretend that Bellamy knows how to turn off the machine and remove her from the restraints like Levitt did for Octavia in 7x05. In-canon, it doesn't make sense at all for him to know how since he's only been on Bardo for a couple of days at most, but he needs to know how, so I'm saying that it's just something he picked up quickly. Or he has the technology on him? Honestly, you can decide how he does it, I don't care.  
> Let's also just pretend that you can turn off the surveillance equipment for the cells from outside.
> 
> I want to thank Pris for helping me figure out where it was going when I was stuck. I love you, babe!!!

He turned so he was halfway facing her, not wanting to see her pained face as she lay under the MCAP machine, but forcing himself to bear it. It was bad enough he’d just tried to lie to Cadogan about Clarke’s knowledge of the Flame. He couldn’t be weak if was going to commit to the Disciples, and the Disciples would never be so weak as to look away from a prisoner receiving the justice of the Shepherd’s judgement.  
  
But Bellamy was not yet a Disciple, and as desperate as he was to commit to the cause, he would never be a man devoid of empathy for those in pain.

And this was _Clarke_ , for God’s sake!

 _Aye, there’s the rub_. He felt like Shakespeare’s words were appropriate here, even if he’d always hate that Clarke had to almost die for Josephine to be able to say them so many months ago. Yet, it wasn’t so long ago for Clarke. No wonder they couldn’t understand each other anymore.

”It didn’t have to be like this” he said to her, unable to hide the despair in his voice.

”Yes, it did.”

The hardness of her voice sent a rush of pain to his chest. She had met his gaze when she’d replied, and he knew the look in her eyes well. It was the brave, determined face she wore when refusing to show weakness despite experiencing excruciating pain. He hated how well he knew it, how she’d been forced to endure blow after blow since before he’d even met her. Since her Dad.

And yet, her strength, her courage, her unbreakable spirit. Her beautiful, powerful mind and pure heart. They never wavered. He would always be in awe of her, of her insurmountable ability to endure and endure with a composure to rival Athena herself.

 _Brave Princess_. He hadn’t truly known the accuracy of those words 131 years ago. He was too busy trying to be an intimidating arsehole with an agenda for metal wristbands to appreciate the fire in her eyes as she’d stared him down.

Even so, that striking girl had made him smile that day because she was brave. And even though he’d struggled to admit it to himself, it wasn’t long before all he wanted was to slay every demon on the ground so she wouldn’t have to be so brave all the time. So she could stop wearing that mask built to conceal pain.

Seeing her wearing it for him, knowing that she saw him as the enemy, it cut a wound in him deeper than any sword or bullet ever could.

 _Fuck_.

Failing his duty to the Shepherd for the second time in two minutes, he marched to her side and removed her from the machine instead of following his fellow Disciples.

"What are you doing?" she asked. He could hear the confusion in her voice, but refused to meet her gaze.

Jaw clenched with barely contained pain, he simply replied "We're not done here."

He was grateful that she didn't resist when he helped her out of the chair and walked her back to the cell block. He didn't want to consider having to hurt her just to make her speak to him. He'd rather die a hundred agonising deaths than cause her pain. He also didn't want to wonder whether she could bring herself to fight him, because either answer would shake him to his core with the implications. He figures she cooperates because there's no use fighting him. She knows they would be returning to Sanctum soon, and that even if she could fight him off and make it back to Octavia and their friends, they'd never be able to get off Bardo in time. Worse still, the Disciples would arrive after them in minutes, hardly enough time to form an organised defence. No, Clarke is smart, and there's no escape plan here that doesn't end in one or many of their people being left behind or killed.

 _Their_ people. As they walk, he wonders whether he still has a right to think of their friends as his people, considering they all think of him as a traitor. And then there's the "their" part, as in, him and Clarke. For so long, his and her people had been one and the same, since those comparatively simple days of the Dropship. It wasn't until he returned to Earth to find a twelve-year-old Nightblood girl that he was faced with the tragedy of him and Clarke not being on the same side, of having loved ones they couldn't prioritise the same way, and the terrible consequences haunted them both. Then they arrived on Sanctum, and though he almost lost her in the process, they still found their way back to each other. When they hugged under the sunrise after their victory against the Primes, he'd held her tight and promised her that doing better mattered in spite of the losses. They'd cried together, and in that embrace, he'd felt a moment of peace that he hadn't felt in over a century. And just like that, it was over, and he was taken to Bardo, and then to Etherea, then returned to Bardo, and then he was betraying his best friend's trust and watching her be lobotomised to prevent the leader of the faith he desperately needs to believe in from finding the technology they've searched for for centuries.

And now he stood before her in an empty cell, staring at that fucking mask of an expression and letting his emotions take over.

"Do you think this is easy for me?" he cried. "Do you think I don't loathe myself for letting them do that to you?"

He forced himself to look at her blood-soaked hair, to gaze at the Nightblood still dripping from her temples and acknowledge the memory that would haunt his nightmares; watching and doing nothing as Clarke was tortured in front of him.

Standing tall like a politician, she only blinked before replying with trademark Clarke calmness, "It doesn't matter. You did it anyway."

It was a blow, but he pressed on. They always stood as equals, even when they hurt each other. If he pushed hard enough, he could break through her facade.

"You're right, I did. And you know me well enough to know that I'll never forgive myself for that. Just like I can't forgive myself for leaving you behind in Praimfaya."

Though she tried to hide it, he didn't miss how her eyes widened and her mouth quickly opened and closed in shock.

It was almost a forbidden topic with them, Praimfaya. Every time they'd talked about it, it felt like they were both holding back, and it kind of terrified him to wonder why. From time to time, he reasoned with himself that it was to be expected. His head asks, _How do you communicate with your best friend after you've left them to die?_

But then his heart answers with another question, and it takes everything he has not to acknowledge the implications:

_Is that all she is to him?_

He was ashamed to admit the amount of mental energy he exerted in avoiding that question. He wouldn't be surprised if Augustus had won the Battle of Actium with less anxiety than defining his relationship with Clarke brought him. Of course she was his best friend. She was his co-leader. The person he depended on. This wasn't news.

And yet, when Octavia had compared her to his now former girlfriend on that terrible night in the bunker, the comparison had felt wrong. Not because he hadn't cared about Echo or Clarke, but because the truth was that he'd cared about Clarke more than he'd ever been able to care about his ex. Naturally, he'd tried to bury that terrible truth deep inside him, but it wouldn't stay there. It hid in the shadows of his mind, always waiting to sneak up on him like the Grounders that had picked off The 100 one by one in their first few weeks on Earth.

He'd fought so long to lock those thoughts and feelings away with any mention of Praimfaya, but now was finally the time to let them out.

"Bellamy," Clarke started, her voice a tiny bit shaky, "that's not im-"

"No, it _is_ important, Clarke!" He slowly stepped towards her as he spoke, desperate for the words to close the distance between them and break her mask completely. "It's important because you need to know that hurting you is worse than hurting myself. Worse than hurting all of our friends, and even worse than hurting Octavia. I know that what just happened will haunt me until I die, and that's a fate I deserve."

Both of their eyes were shining with unshed tears by then, and Clarke seemed to have forgotten to hide them.

Swallowing down the tremble in her lips, she replied, "Why did you do it, then? And please don't say it was to "win the last war" or "for all mankind".

Her ocean-like eyes held his, shimmering with emotion, yet still attempting to hide something. A secret, deep-rooted pain that she clearly couldn't allow herself to reveal to him. Not unless he laid his own pain equally bare.

Staring into her eyes, he hadn't realised how close they were until now. He could have wiped her face clean of the blood with the sleeve of his white robes if she'd let him. He wanted to. He wanted to give her the care she deserved and make her feel treasured. Maybe she would let him, if he just faced his fear and told her the words that needed to be said.

"No," he shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes locked to hers. "It wasn't for humanity. But it also wasn't about saving the others. Clarke, it was about saving _you_. I stood there, and let them hurt you, because if I hadn't, they would have doubted that you know about the Flame, and then you would be executed just like that. I could never, ever let that happen, because I _need_ you to live, Clarke! When I tried to save you from Roan all those years ago, it wasn't because Skaikru needed you. It's because I did. When I poisoned Octavia, it wasn't to stop a war. It was to stop her from killing you. And fuck! When I brought you back from the dead, it wasn't so you could save our people or bring peace, and even though it should have been, it wasn't because Madi needs you. Clarke, it was because you deserve to live, and because I _can't_ live in a world without you in it. I tried to for six years, and it's just not fucking worth it. The heart needs the head to live. Clarke, I love you."

They were both crying now, and he wanted to hold her close more than he'd ever wanted anything, but he held himself back. The ball was entirely in her court now. He'd just laid his heart on the line, and it was her right to break it into a hundred pieces if she wished to.

But then, slowly, as if she were afraid he would break if she touched him, she cupped his face in her pale hands, brought his forehead down to hers, and whispered the words he'd dreamed of hearing since the first time he'd held her in his arms that day in Camp Jaha.

"I love you too, Bellamy."

And just like that, every mask between them was gone, and they collided like magnets finally able to meet. Their lips demanded each other. Their tongues battled for dominance. Their hands moved everywhere they could, exploring each other like cartographers mapping new terrain. Bellamy memorised her every touch, sigh and taste, determined to preserve this moment forever. Though they'd hugged many times before, he now truly felt how perfectly she fit against him. She filled his every thought and feeling. Where before there had been fear, anger and pain, now there was only Clarke. Clarke telling him she loved him back. Clarke kissing him like he was the only thing in the world that made sense. Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. The Disciples didn't know what they were missing. Selfish love made life worth living. A life without the love of Clarke Griffin was a life he could not return to.

Eventually, they had to come up for air, yet they didn't move away. They stared at each other so lovingly, it was as if the room, Bardo, the entire universe melted away as they gazed at each other.

"What happens now?" she asked, a vulnerability to her voice.

"I don't know," he admitted. At her worried expression, he said, "Hey, we'll figure something out."

She smiled at him with genuine hope and love, and he swore to himself that he would spend the rest of his life making sure she smiled like that more.

"Can we figure it out later?"

He returned her smile, staring into eyes he would be lost in for eternity. "Whenever you're ready."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!  
> So excited for 7x13 tonight!!!  
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
